


you're my head, my heart

by banshee_in_the_dark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabble prompts, previously posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this is a thing people do, and I thought, why not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I might be falling for you, and I'm terrified." Written after the bombing of TonDC.

The first thing she does when she sees him is tell him they need to talk. Well, no, first she hugs him for a solid minute, his arms around her comforting and familiar in the chaos of war. Then she summarily checks him for major injuries and seeing he’s a little worse for the wear but not in critical condition, she pulls him aside, away from prying eyes and perked up ears.

She drags him, and tired as he is, Bellamy follows. She catches Octavia’s eyes in the distance, through the smoke of the explosions and screams of victory, but she doesn’t make a move to interfere.

When they’re alone, truly, finally alone in the cover of the woods at night, Clarke tells him everything. She lied about Octavia not being in TonDC at the time of the missile threat. That, as is happens, is the easiest of her sins to confess, and for him to forgive because he understands and would’ve done the same in her place, probably. But his face changes when her tale continues and she talks about familiar faces in a village soon to be decimated and a decision she let herself be convinced of.

His face changes, hardens, and his body changes too. He puts distance between them, balls his fists at his hips and looks away, like he can’t bear the sight of her.

“Lexa was right, if we had evacuated Mount Weather would’ve know you were there,” Clarke explains, forcing the words out of her dry mouth. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“Because I was your only shot at lowering their defenses.”

“Because they would’ve killed you!”

The words hang between them. Bellamy’s eyes find hers in the moonlight and whatever he sees in them makes his whole body sigh.

“I couldn’t risk it,” Clarke repeats, softly, almost to herself.

“I would’ve tried to find another way, but,” he swallows, shakes his head. “You did the best you could with the info you had. I understand.”

A spark of hope flares in her chest, cautious that it might be snuffed at any given time.

“You left _my sister_ there, my little sister,” Bellamy sighs, rubs a hang over his face. “It’s gonna take me a while to forgive you for that.”

Clarke nods. They’re becoming the norm between them, these ‘you did what you had to do’ talks. She thinks back on what she said to Lexa, how there has to be more to life than this chaotic mess where they stand on ever-shifting ground and fight for their lives without rest every minute of every day.

His touch startles her, a hand steady on her arm. Bellamy’s lips tick up on a grim line. She can’t remember the last time she saw him smile. Can’t remember the last time she smiled, either. Maybe they aren’t capable of it anymore.

“How many people?” he asks, softly, as if the shadows between the trees might be listening.

Pressure builds in her lungs. “Too many,” she confesses, surprise and confusion battling within her as tears well in her eyes.

His eyelids fall shut, defeated. “Damn it, Clarke. I’m not worth it.”

Clarke swallows. “I think I might be falling for you,” she says before she loses her nerve.  “And I’m terrified, because it _was_ worth it, you’ll always be worth it to me. And I don’t know where that leaves me.”

Bellamy looks at her the same way he did when she told him she couldn’t lose him, shocked and hopeful and maybe even self-conscious. He curls his fingers around her wrist and his thumb sneaks beneath her jacket. “We better get back.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else during the short trek to meet the others. This time, she follows him, and at one point Clarke slips her hand into his and threads their fingers together.

There’s something else Clarke sees, even in the dimness of the night, when he turns his head back to look at her when her fingers find their perfect fit between his, and it’s better that anything he could ever say, weights heavier that whatever words could be spoken between them.

Because he understands this too, intimately, and she has a feeling he might be every bit as terrified as she is.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” Written sometime before the finale, so this is admitedly too optimistic.

“Come _on_ , Bellamy! Have a little fun!”

Bellamy scowls at Clarke, hands tucked into his armpits for warmth as she falls to her knees and begins gathering a small mountain of snow with her hands.

“There’s no time for fun,” he says grimly. “Lincoln said a storm’s coming, a bad one. We need to prepare.”

“We have supplies and shelter for everyone,” Clarke counters, her left eyebrow ticking upwards, challenging him. “We’re as prepared as we’re gonna get.”

“Well, I’m leaving for a last hunt and I’m taking the kids with me.”

Clarke cackles. Loudly. The kids in question, all forty five of them are currently occupied with a free-for-all snowball tournament Clarke is not ashamed to confess she helped organize.

She raises plaintive eyes to him. “Let them have this. We haven’t had a stretch of peace this long since we crash-landed on the planet, we deserve to have some fun. You, too.”

Bellamy growls under his breath. He can’t say no to her when she looks at him like that.

Actually, scratch that. He can’t say no to her, period. It’s embarrassing.

“What are you doing?” he frowns, eyes fixed on the sizable snowball Clarke is amassing.

“Nothing,” she shrugs innocently.

“Clarke.”

She stands up slowly. “I’m not going to do anything,” she says, a big fucking grin plastered all over her face telling him she’s lying.

Bellamy scowls, taking a cautious step back. “Don’t.”

She giggles. She actually fucking giggles.

“ _Clarke._ ”

Her tongue peeks out to lick her chapped lips as she passes the snowball from one hand to the other hands. That thing is perfectly round and alarmingly big.

Bellamy raises his hands before him defensively. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, _goddammit!_ ”

It hits him square in the face.

“Oh my God!” Clarke laughs uncontrollably, running towards him. She crashes against him and they almost lose balance. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t aim for you face!”

He spits snow a mouthful of snow and glares at her. She snorts with laughter.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Bellamy warns flatly.

Clarke’s eyes widen. She tries to make a run for it but he catches her with a steady arm around her waist. They both fall to the ground, laughing, and Bellamy grabs handfuls of snow he subsequently throws over her head and, to her squealing displeasure, down her shirt. She doesn’t just lay there either. Soon they’re both rolling in the snow trying to one up each other until laughing hurts too much and they desperately need air.

 “My mouth is numb,” Bellamy groans, flat on his back. His clothes are completely soaked and any minute now he’s gonna start freezing, but until then his heart drums happily against his ribcage.

Clarke settles half over him, propping her chin on his chest. “I’ll warm it up then,” she smirks.

Her hair falls around their faces like a curtain as her lips descend on his and her kiss quickly bring feeling back to his lips.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The paint’s supposed to go where?” Also written before the finale, when I naively thought everything woild turn out okay.

“The paint’s supposed to go  _where_?”

Clarke groans inwardly. This was a bad idea, a terrible one, really. If maintaining peace with the tree people wasn’t so necessary she would hightail it out of this damned spring festival so fast she would make it to Camp Jaha in record speed.

A grounder by the name of Luken, their assistant for the night, cocks his head to the side and stares at Bellamy wonderingly. “Is your hearing impaired? Did you not hear my instructions clearly the first time?”

Bellamy fairly glares a hole into the man’s face, his features set on a look of pure rage. Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. What she wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here…

“I’m supposed to paint her breasts?” he bites out.

“Her nipples,” Luken clarifies.

“And why for fuck’s sake can’t she do it herself?”

Clarke would very much like to know the answer to that.

“It is not our way,” Luken shakes his head. “Spring is the time life flourishes. This most sacred ritual honors women’s unique ability to give life, as well as acknowledging that she cannot do so alone.”

“And you are here because?”

“You are beginners, you must be initiated in the correct use of the sacred paint. Any mistake on your part and the Goddess might punish us with barren fields.”

If possible, Bellamy’s scowl darkens even more. Still, he says nothing, just nods and turns to Clarke with an apologetic loo on his face. _Sorry. I tried._

Clarke smiles tightly. _I know._

She pulls off her shirt, ignoring Luken and actively trying to look anywhere but at Bellamy.

“Turn away,” Bellamy orders the grounder.

“Do not worry, Belomi kom Skaikru. The female form holds no appeal to me,” Luken explains, raising his chin proudly. “It was not the Goddess plan for me.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke gives the man an assuring smile. Bellamy still doesn’t look happy, but then again, neither is she. This whole situation is a mess. She can’t wait to get it over with.

At last she sheds her bra, steeling her spine and commanding every cell in her body to not blush, dammit. It’s not easy, being exposed before Bellamy like this, but he makes it easy by giving her as much space as he can and not outright ogling at her. Of course, that’ll change soon. He has to paint her nipples so of course he’ll have to look at her. But he doesn’t look like he’s particularly enjoying the prospect and for that she’s thankful. They can be mortified together.

“First the right one,” Luken instructs, handing Bellamy a horsehair paintbrush and a small wooden bowl with thick blue paint. “Only pain the areola but leave the tip clear.”

“Alright,” Bellamy sighs, visibly arming himself with the necessary strength to complete the task. It would comical if Clarke wasn’t so mortified.

Clarke swallows a moan at the first contact with the bristles. The paint is soft and cool against her sensitive nipple, and Bellamy’s soft, careful caress with the paintbrush quickly builds up her desire. Like invisible strings tethering her nipples to her clit, each stroke of the brush makes her nub swell and wetness gather between her legs.

When both nipples are completely covered in the blue paint, Clarke feels like a mass of nerves about to explode. The paint is no longer just cool, but freezing, making the beaded points of her nipples stand out.

Her eyes easily find Bellamy’s intense gaze. His pupils are completely blown and his breathing comes out a little shallow. This is affecting him as much as her.

“Now the tips,” Luken says mildly, as if the whole ordeal bores him.

He hands Bellamy a clean brush and a new bowl, this one with red paint. Hand shaking slightly, Bellamy generously paints the hard peaks of her nipples under Clarke’s heated eyes.

This time she can’t hold back her moans. Embarrassed, Clarke slaps a hand over her mouth to silence the obscene sounds as her whole body trembles.

“What the hell! What is happening to her?” Bellamy advances on Luken, his eyes wild and scared.

Another whimper passes through her lips. The contrast of cold and heat in her nipples is almost unbearably pleasurable. Between her legs, her folds feel swollen and drenched and the emptiness within her is maddening. Her knees give out so Bellamy helps her to a chair.

“I will burn this whole goddamned village to the ground if you don’t tell what’s wrong with her _right now!_ ”

Unimpressed in the face of Bellamy Blake’s legendary rage, Luken just shakes his head. “This is the natural response to the sacred paint stimulus. The Goddess wishes it so.”

“How do I make it stop?”

“You may blow over her painted area to alleviate her discomfort,” Luken offers, gathering all his supplies and crossing to the opposite side of the tent. “Once the paint dries you may join the festivities. No matter what, do not touch her intimately. It would greatly offend the Goddess. My work here is done. Best of luck, Clok en Belomi kom skaikru.”


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.” Modern AU

“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

She meant it as a joke because, well. They’re in public. At Wells and Raven’s wedding. Raven already caught them making out behind a potted plant. She’s about to give her toast as a Maid of Honor and she can’t remember a word of it. Bellamy keeps giving her that _look_ and wetting his lips and it’s distracting okay? They haven’t been dating long. Clarke has yet to develop immunity to his charms.

At least he stopped touching her thigh under the table, trailing his fingers all the way to trace the elastic of her panties and back again. He sucks.

Bellamy smirks. His eyes drop to the swell of her breasts and her nipples pucker as she warms under his gaze. “That’s the plan.”

Her backless dress didn’t allow a bra, which was Raven’s plan in the first place. The fabric is also soft and clingy so yes, her beaded nipples are fucking evident.

She hates him. And wants to fuck him so bad.

“Don’t even think about it. We are not having sex at my best friend’s wedding,” she whisper-shouts.

Bellamy gently brushes back her loose hair and leans close to her, nearly brushing his lips over the shell of her ear. His warm breath ghosts over the exposed skin of her neck. “How wet are you right now? I bet that nice little thong is ruined.”

His voice drops to that low, hoarse quality he gets when he’s really turned on and never fails to turn _her_ on. He can and has made her come by talking dirty to her and using only minimal actual touching.

And if she was wet before she’s positively drenched now.

Clarke holds firm and refuses to have sex, but they come to a compromise and Bellamy fingerfucks in the restroom. She gives her toast to the happy couple still blushing and a little breathless, panty-less, and occasionally glaring at Bellamy, who only smirks at her across the room with his hand buried in his pocket where he’s keeping her panties.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s only one night, we’ll just share the bed.” Another modern AU!

“It’s only one night, we’ll just share the bed.”

“It’s a single.”

“Come on!” Clarke smiles and pulls him fully into the room. “It’ll be just like old times.”

Secretly, she hopes that won’t be exactly the case. Bellamy is her oldest friend. Their moms used to work together at the hospital – hers a doctor, his a scrub nurse – and they met at daycare. They had frequent sleepovers as they grew up, especially after his step-father left them and Bellamy and his sister started spending some nights at her house while Aurora took on extra shifts.

They would make camp in the living room and watch movies until bedtime. Clarke was supposed to sleep in her own room while the Blake siblings took the foldout couch but she would always sneak downstairs after her father fell asleep and curl up next to Bellamy and Octavia. They would sneak under the covers with a flashlight and he would point at the drawings in his illustrated mythology book and make up the stories he didn’t know, whispering so his sister wouldn’t wake up.

Even as they grew older the tradition kept strong. They mutually decided to be each other’s first kiss when they were thirteen and, well, practice makes perfect so they spent all of junior high working on their technique. They’re also nothing if not competitive so when one of them picked up a new trick from someone else? Well they had to show the other who was clearly the best.

When they were on their senior year Bellamy’s mom died on a car crash and he and his sister had to go live to another state with a relative. She hated losing her best friend, hated that he was going through the loss of a parent alone, with the added responsibility of taking care of his little sister.

She figured out she was probably in love with him when he showed up at her doorstep to take her to prom. She’d called him the night before crying and told him she’d been summarily dumped by her girlfriend, so naturally he stole his uncle’s tux and drove all night to take her to the dance to cheer her up.

“I really missed you,” she whispers after they turn off the lights.

They’re lying on their sides, limbs brushing close but not quite touching. Clarke fights the urge to touch him for close to three seconds before she starts tracing the letters on his t-shirt.

Bellamy pulls the covers higher over them. His hand falls on the curve of her shoulder and stays there, rubbing slow circles over her collarbone with his thumb. “Me too. I’m glad Octavia planned this trip, even with the knowledge that she’s probably having sex with her boyfriend next door.”

Clarke chuckles. “They’ll probably do it in the shower so we won’t hear them.”

He groans.

She bites her lip while he’s not looking and kisses the corner of his lip before she loses her nerve. “I can take your mind off it.”

“Yeah?”

Clarke sits up and smoothly takes off her tank top. Bellamy growls a soft curse that makes her breath hitch and the spot between her legs tingle. He helps tug off his t-shirt and drops back to the mattress as Clarke gently pushes him. He alternates between looking at her eyes adoringly and practically salivating at the sight of her breasts.

She straddles him, feeling his cock thick and firm through his boxers and her panties.

Bellamy trails his hands from her knees, her thighs, all the way up to her waist. “I don’t remember the old times being this awesome,” he smirks.

Clarke rolls her hips against his and they both groan. “You’re right,” she moans breathily. “This is better.”


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There was never a choice." Post 2x16 reunion.

Of all the places he expected to run into Clarke, Polis never crossed his mind.

Maybe, in hindsight, that was fucking stupid and naïve of him. Maybe he’s not allowed at all to feel betrayed and has only himself to blame if he does.

So he does. Feel betrayed, and blame himself for being a fucking idiot.

He didn’t even recognize her at first. He’s being escorted into the Commander’s tent, here on a diplomatic mission. They were approached for a truce and he’s here to deliver a firm but politely worded ‘fuck no’ to Lexa. They have Mount Weather now. They don’t need to align themselves with the Trikru to survive or trust the Commander when she’s turned on them before.

So he goes into the tent, declines the wine and food Lexa offers, says his piece and turns to leave. He doesn’t pay attention to the other grounders on the tent other than to make a head count and catalogue the weapons they’re carrying, but he is aware that their eyes are all on him and one particular gaze feels uncomfortably intense.

He leaves the tent and makes it two steps out when he hears it.

“Bellamy.”

At first he thinks he’s dreaming. He’s seen their reunion in his head so many times since she left, both asleep and when he’s awake. He’s imagined her voice and the look on her face and wrapped his arms around her in his mind’s eye. And she always looks the same her saw her last, with her golden hair flowing around her face, a little sad, a lot broken, but ready to let him help her.

Reality couldn’t be more different.

Her hair is pushed back in an elaborate crown of braids, a dark copper in the firelight. Her eyes are obscured with kohl, hooded. She looks fierce and detached, unattainable. Nothing like the Clarke he knows.

“Clarke.”

She smiles and for a second he sees the girl who sang to Atom before ending his suffering. And damn it, he wants his arms around her, but.

“You’re _here_ ,” he says bitingly.

She reels back and looks away before she answers. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Bellamy snorts. “So you couldn’t look at our friends, _the people we saved_ , but you’re cool hanging out here?” He shakes his head and closes the distance between them. “With the person who betrayed us and put us in the position to kill all those people in the first place. Really.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Damn right I don’t.”

Her face crumbles. “It doesn’t hurt. Here – ” she looks around them at the camp and back at the Commander’s tent. “I don’t feel anything for them,” she says in a small, tired voice. “So it doesn’t hurt.”

Bellamy wets his lips and steps close enough Clarke has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “You’re still running Clarke,” he says, evoking her words and wondering if she remembers. “It’s never going to stop hurting until you face it.”

She inhales sharply. Her eye fall shut, as if she can’t stand his piercing look anymore. Her forehead drops and it’s all he can do to resist the urge to pull her closer.

“We made camp not too far from here, by the fork in the river,” he tells her. “We leave at first light.”

He doesn’t expect an answer from her – hell, he doesn’t expect her to _do_ anything. So he gets back to camp, forgoes dinner with Miller and the other two guards who accompanied him on this trip and calls it a night.

Some time, still hours before dawn, he feels her slip next to him. He opens bleary eyes and tries to make out her features in the dark. Moonlight filters through the thin material of the tent illuminating her clear face and her glowing, loose hair.

He can’t keep the wonder from his voice. “You came.”

“There was never a choice.” Clarke snuggles closer and he tucks her into his side. “I don’t want to run anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm always taking prompts if you're interested :)](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "could you write something (smut, cute, etc whichever you want) where bellamy and clarke drink a littleee too much moonshine?"

Clarke approaches him tentatively. “I liked last year’s Unity Day party better. It had a certain charm.”

Bellamy looks up from his cup. His smile feels weird, a forced motion to reassure her. It’s difficult to be around her after so long. He’s glad she’s back. Every day Clarke spent away from home was a day he wanted to go after her. Sometimes he told himself he wanted to for the sole reason to yell at her, to let her know how much he resented her leaving him. Other times he imagined holding her and never letting her go.

“Moonshine’s way better though,” he offers, his smile small but conspiratory, genuine.

“Can I sit down?”

He nods. “I’m not a fun drunk,” he warns her.

Clarke snorts a little, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Or a generally fun person to be around.”

“Fuck you.” He says mildly, without sentiment.

“I stand corrected.”

She’s nervous. Trying too hard. Things haven’t been the same between them, but they do try. Bellamy would take a bullet for Clarke, and she let a village burn to keep him safe, but.

The problem’s not what lengths they would go for one another. It’s not even that she left, either. Or that she didn’t come back until he went and found her. He doesn’t even know _ what _ the problem is, really, which means he can’t fix it. Thus, everything between them is awkward and fucked up.

Bellamy throws back his drink. It burns going down. It’s been a while since he indulged in moonshine. He doesn’t like feeling his senses dim, his alertness reduced. His brain and his reflexes have kept him alive this long, but they’re no use if he doesn’t stay sharp. He can’t be ready to fend off an attack if he’s drunk.

But it’s Unity Day, security’s covered and Clarke looks especially pretty by firelight.

So.

He fills the cup and passes it to Clarke. The corners of her lips tick up over the rim of the cup before she downs it looking straight at him and Bellamy has trouble breathing.

They stay like that, drinking in silence, keeping each other company away from the thick of the party. When their booze runs low Monroe skips over to them and gives them another bottle. They drink that too, passing the bottle between them and drinking directly from it. He imagines he can taste Clarke’s lips on it, and he licks his own after every drink.

Clarke follows the motion with lazy, glassy eyes, looking up at him from the place her head rests on his shoulder. Bellamy doesn’t know at what point exactly they got so close, and he doesn’t particularly care. Her weight against him is a comfort. His arm around her, anchoring her, making sure she doesn’t slip away. They’ve gravitated to one another before, from the very beginning, but something always pulls them apart. Damned if he lets that happen again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers after a while.

His response is automatic. “You’re forgiven.”

Clarke hides a chuckle burrowing her face against his chest. “You don’t even know what I’m apologizing for.”

He pulls her closer. She’s curled against his side, practically on his lap. “Don’t care.”

“You’re still angry at me, I know you are. I _ want _ you to be,” she sniffs.

Clarke pulls away and Bellamy misses her instantly. But she doesn’t go far, kneeling unsteadily beside him on the ground, touching her hands urgently to his chest. “You came looking for me before I had a chance to come back on my own. I would have,” she insists. “I need you to know that. I was getting there, I promise.”

She’s openly sobbing right now, fisting her hands on his shirt. His heart feels heavy. He can’t see her like this. “I know.”

But Clarke shakes her head, not listening to him. “I promise. I thought about coming back to you every day. I – ”

“Hey,” Bellamy folds his arms around her. “Shh. I know.”

The celebration dies down around them, eventually. Bellamy couldn’t care less. Clarke falls fast asleep curled over his lap with her nose buried on his neck and his arms safely around her. Occasionally she whimpers in her sleep, and he hugs her tighter in consequence. He nods off and when he comes to the camp is quiet and there’s a heavy blanket draped over them. He tucks it around Clarke, brushes a kiss on her forehead, and lets sleep claim him again.

They’ll probably regret a lot about tonight come morning but this, this is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm always taking prompts if you're interested :)](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: "If Season 2 was the season of weird Bellamy hair then Season 3 is definitely they season of awful Clarke hair. When will her curls return from war?"

“Ouch!”

“Hold still. Jesus Clarke, this is a disaster.”

“I don’t remember asking for your help.”

“Well, you’re gonna get it anyway since you were doing such a lousy job.”

“You don’t have to pull my hair,” Clarke whines after a short silence.

Bellamy’s hands gentle on her, his long, strong fingers rubbing the shampoo on her hair and scalp. “I’m not doing it on purpose.” That’s as close to an apology as she’s getting, apparently. “It’s just, this is a – ”

“A disaster yeah, yeah, you mentioned that.” Clarke swallows an unexpected moan of pleasure at his firm yet gentle caress. “I wasn’t at a spa, you know,” she says softly. “I put a lot of shit on my hair to change how it looked while I was on the run. I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off.”

His hands stop for a moment before resuming their scrubbing. “You weren’t running in Polis,” he reminds her. Like she could forget.

Clarke closes her eyes. “It didn’t seem important.”

Bellamy helps her rinse and applies shampoo another two times before he’s satisfied every spec of dirt and dye is gone. By now they’re both fairly wet and Clarke’s back screams in pain at being bent over a bucket so long. All she can see of him are his boots next to her, leaning over her and using a pitcher to rinse her hair.

Finally, he applies conditioner, sweet smelling and homemade, and wraps her hair in a towel. Her spine protests as Clarke’s sits back. Bellamy emphatically towel dries her hair and then stands back to admire his work.

“At least the pink streaks are all gone.”

He turns around and Clarke allows a little smile to surface. Bellamy actively avoided her when she returned to Arkadia and barely said two words when forced to interact with her. Until today when, apparently tired of glaring at her from a distance, he stoically dragged her down to his cabin where several buckets of warm water, a comb, and absurd amounts of shampoo waited for her.

Bellamy turns back to face her, a pair of scissors in his hand and scowling like he’s about to march into battle.

Clarke eyes the scissors warily. “Are you any good with those?”

“I cut my own hair,” he retorts defensively.

Clarke wisely bites her tongue and waits patiently as he combs her hair, gently untangling all the knots before cutting it. The first swipe of the scissors comes a little higher than she’s comfortable with, but she says nothing. Instead, she sits back and relaxes under his careful ministrations.


End file.
